


Something Simple

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [290]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Because Damn It That's When I Was in College, Feelings Realization, Frat Boy Chris, Hook-Up, M/M, Not Great About Using Condoms, Penetrative Sex, Pining, Set in the late 1990s, Twink Sebastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 04:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20109214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Chris woke up with a hangover and a half-hearted hard-on and a softly snoring dude in his bed.





	Something Simple

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: We always bump into each other at frat parties and end up hooking up. This is like the fifth time and you were so hammered I had to let you sleep over. Now it’s morning and I have a lecture soon so can you kindly gtfo? 
> 
> Prompt from this [generator](https://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator%22).

Chris woke up with a hangover and a half-hearted hard-on and a softly snoring dude in his bed.

The hangover he was expecting, the hard-on he could deal with, but the dude? That was weird. 

He had to sit up a little and stare, run a hand through his damp, matted hair. A hookup, ok, that was obvs, but Chris had a rule about one-nights: they never got to sleep over--but then, he thought, rubbing the tight place between his eyes, when was the last time he’d actually let one in his bed? That’s what bathrooms were for, and the living room, in a pinch, if the room was dark enough and the music bone-splittingly loud. When the house went wild, so did he, and after almost three years of parties every weekend and plenty of willing bodies, Chris had the hooking up thing down to a goddamn routine.

Except now there was a guy in his bed well into the morning after and he was resting on his side, one thigh thrown over Chris’s, and for all his sleepy Zs, the guy had a chubby, too, which was stirring against Chris’s hip.

Well shit.

And the worst part was, now that Chris was looking, he knew this dude. It was Seb. Seb of the dark hair and the blue bedroom eyes and the deceptively soft-looking mouth. He looked fragile, this kid, like he was made of balsa, until you saw him in tight jeans and a tank. Walking across the lawn all bundled up and serious, you’d never guess that beneath the coat and the scarf and the studious expression lay a gleeful, teasing twink who could drink half the house under the table and laugh while he did it, beaming with some kind of primal, boy joy.

The first time he’d kissed Chris, it’d been in the kitchen, backed up between the back door and the fridge. Chris’d been holding a red cup that crashed with a splash when Seb moaned against his mouth and pinned him with those slim hips to the wall. They’d come close to going zippers down right there, but Seb had pulled back, smirking, and tugged at Chris’s buckle, said: “Come on. We need more space.”

Ten steps, Seb’s fingers in his, towing him through his own house. Music in his teeth and steel in his shorts and a party in full fucking swing and then there was a door opening, closing, the cool of a metal edge against his back.

“Yeah,” Seb had chuckled in his ear, the smell of dusty and Downy in the air, “this is better, huh?”

Chris didn’t remember answering, but he remembered Seb’s tongue on his cock, remembered squeezing himself at the base to keep it in; remembered the crack of a packet and the smell of lube. The heat of Seb’s body, his gasp. He remembered the sound of the washer rocking as Seb clung to it, purring, pushing his ass back to keep Chris inside. 

He remembered clutching at Seb’s hips and kissing his neck and whispering the word _ slut _ in his ear over and over as Seb cried out and went hot velvet inside. And when it was over, pants pulled up and hair straightened, Seb had grinned at him beneath the flickering bulb and kissed him again: sweeter this time, slow and careful, those long fingers stroking his neck.

“I’m Sebastian,” he’d said. “Seb. And you are?”

“Er,” Chris had said. It had taken a second. “Chris.”

“You live here, Chris? In this house, I mean.”

He’d bent his head to nuzzle the soft heat of Seb’s neck. “Mmmmhmmm.”

Seb’s voice had fluttered; he’d arched into the press of Chris’s mouth. “Then maybe we can do this again sometime, huh? Next time you fellas throw a rager. Would that be something you’d be into, Chris?”

“Uh huh.” A small kiss, a second. He’d found the light of Seb’s eyes. “Yes. Next weekend, after the game. Come find me.”

But it had been a month before he’d seen Seb again, before he’d felt Seb’s hands on his body, before he’d nearly lost his brain through his dick.

“Oh, so you missed me, huh?” Seb had said from his knees, the heat of his breath nearly enough to send Chris over.

“Yes,” he’d hissed, leaning back against the bathroom sink. “Oh, fuck, Seb.”

Seb had stroked his balls. His shorts were barely pulled down enough to free them. “Looks like you’ve been saving it up, baby. You come at all since you banged me?”

Chris had been drunk enough to whine, sober enough to be embarrassed by it, how needy he felt, how on edge he was. “‘Course I have.”

“Hmmm.” A hot lick at his slit. “Lemme rephrase: you come inside anybody since you bent me over and fucked me full?”

“Shut up,” Chris had said, stupid desperate because the answer was no, god no, “shut the fuck up and suck me.”

He’d come down Sebastian’s throat and only after did he think _ condom_, but by then they’d switched places and Seb was filling his mouth, his pretty cock bobbing as he gave it up, ten fingers tight in Chris’s hair.

They’d kissed after, easy again, sated, and Chris had stroked the long, bare line of Seb’s back, his shirt lost in the shadows, his ribs trembling with every breath.

“This was fun,” Seb had said, his hand on the doorknob, his hair in his eyes. “Thanks, Chris.”

“Yeah, er--thank you, Seb. I’m...I’m glad you came back.”

Seb had titled his head, a ghost of a smile. “Are you? Me, too.”

Whatever kept happening between them, after that, it wasn’t like a regular thing. Seb didn’t show up every weekend like a lot of people did; he was there, Chris figured, exactly and only when he wanted to be.

He started keeping his eyes out for Seb on campus, in the flow of kids at the coffee shop, outside of Baker Hall, in line at the University Center during the lunch rush. Caught a glimpse a few times, nearly always did a double take. Made sure that Seb didn’t see him, though, because it wasn’t like that. He just--some part of him needed the occasional reminder that what had happened in the recesses of a handful of frat parties was real and not some Jaegerbomb-induced sex dream.

It wasn’t, of course, because Seb kept showing up every now and then all through the fall and into the winter. They had sex in the basement, in a bedroom someone had stupidly left open, and once in the corner of the living room-cum-dance floor, Seb’s arms around his neck, his cheek hot again Chris’s, his cock pulsing again and again in Chris’s fist and Chris shuddering and shooting in his jeans at Seb’s hungry little cries and his readiness to give them up, audience of drunken assholes be damned.

“Come on, dirty boy,” Seb had said when Chris’s knees were still Jello. “Take me somewhere so I can clean you up.”

And then it was the end of the semester, the night before winter break, the night on which the house threw its biggest, dumbest rager of the year, complete with fake snow and sorority girls in elf outfits and colored lights hanging everywhere, the bulbs sputtering when they got splashed with beer. Stupid as fuck, the whole business, but it was a house tradition and the last year Chris would be a part of it--fuck you, graduation--and he’d been determined to make the most of the thing.

There were condoms in one pocket and lube in the other and an fragile agreement with Mackie that if push came to shove, they could use the spare bed in his room:

“However, if you so much as look at my nice, clean bed while you’re splooging, we’re gonna have words, Evans. You get me?”

He’d tossed a fake salute and thrown in the finger. “Aye aye, sir. Loud and clear.”

But then, what in the actual fuck. Sebastian hadn’t shown up.

At midnight, he still had hope; by three, that shit was long gone; and by five, he was upstairs in his own bed, naked and drinking Fireball straight from the bottle until the sun was up, day breaking day.

He’d spent way the fuck too much of winter break fighting off a serious hangover of embarrassment and wonder if Seb was ok. They’d never exchanged emails or anything, much less phone number; god, what were they? 12? Hell, he realized one afternoon in early January, watching his cousins bean each other with snowballs, he didn’t even know the guy’s last name.

So he drank and he ran around and he lost himself in the pleasures of home and he dreamt of dark hair and blue eyes, of eager hands and a smile bitten into the soft skin of his thighs.

“Dude,” his brother said, frowning as he packed up the last of his stuff, “never seen you so jazzed to get back to school. Usually I’d be dragging your ass.”

Chris didn’t look up from his suitcase. “Last semester, man,” he said with what he hoped was a shrug. “So fucking ready to get it over with, you know. Wanna be done.”

His brother had snorted. “Yeah, sure. We’ll see if you’re singing that song come June when you’re paying your own bills and working 8-5. Trust me, jerk, you’ll miss this shit then.”

So he’d driven back to school a week early and wandered around the frat house eating grilled cheese and drinking the last of the beer in the fridge. Which was the A-1 worst recipe, wasn’t it, for not thinking about Seb.

_ That’s where he kissed me_. _ That’s where I fucked him. That’s where he came in my mouth_. 

Shit. Another beer, more grilled cheese.

Classes couldn’t have started soon enough.

“Eh,” Mackie’d said a couple days into the semester. “You know what? Let’s not have a theme or anything this weekend. School sucks. Let’s just get fucking drunk.”

It wasn’t Chris’s fault, then, that he’d been halfway to shitfaced the night before when he’d felt that hand on his arm, when he’d looked down to see Seb smirking back.

“Hey,” Seb had said like nothing was fucking weird, like the last six weeks hadn’t happened. “What’s up?”

And now, as he sat in his bed, head aching, dick twitching, this guy he was apparently super into curled against him all bare-skinned and sticky, he remembered how they’d ended up here:

He was the one who’d taken Seb by the hand this time, the one who’d led the way. He who’d tugged this boy up and up and up to his room and shut the door, locked it, thrown Seb willing on the bed. He was the one who’d stripped Seb off and peeled off his own clothes and held Seb down in the sheets, kissing him like there was no tomorrow and shivering with every hitch of Seb’s breath, every moan, every sigh. He was the one who’d parked his face between Seb’s thighs and sucked one of out of him, relentless, who’d squeezed Seb’s balls and drank it down and then made Sebastian taste it, made him lick himself from Chris’s hot mouth and it wasn’t until Seb was begging, tugging at Chris’s cock and panting against his throat that he went for the lube and then when he’d finally pushed in and felt Sebastian ripple around him, seen that soft, greedy look in Seb’s eyes, he was the one who had lost himself, who’d buried himself in Sebastian’s ass again and again and whispered drunkenly: “_Mine_."

“Fuck yes,” Seb had groaned against his mouth. “All yours, Chris. Come take it.”

And he had, hadn’t he? Twice, that he could remember. The second time, Seb had been on his hands and knees, growling, jerking himself as Chris fucked him and blowing his load, sour and sticky, all over Chris’s pillow, the sheets.

No wonder he was still here, Chris thought, his lips curving. It’d be a wonder if he could walk yet.

“You’re staring at me,” Seb mumbled. “Why are you staring at me? I’m ‘sleep.”

“Sorry.”

One eye opened. “No, you’re not.”

“Ok, no, I’m not.” He stroked Seb’s hair and followed the curve of his ear. “You’re really pretty.”

“And you’re hungover as fuck, aren’t you?”

“I mean, kinda. Yeah. Are you?”

Seb snorted. “Me? How could I be? You mauled me the second I got in the door. I barely had time for a sip.”

“You want a beer? I bet there’s something stale and skunky downstairs I could get you.”

“Fuck you, no.” Seb’s nails found Chris’s chest, clawed. “Don’t you go anywhere. Not ready to get up yet. I missed you, man.”

“You did?”

Both eyes were open now. “Yeah. Why’d you sound so surprised?”

He was too hungover to think of a good lie, too weirdly happy to want to. “I thought I’d see you at our last party, is all. But you skipped it.”

“Skipped what?”

“Our party at the end of last semester, right before break. I thought you’d be there.”

Seb was squinting now, his pretty face turned into a frown. “I left the day after finals started,” he said. “All my shit was projects; only had to take one test. So as soon as that was done, I was gone.”

_ See_? the logical, reasonable, totally not emotionally invested in this gorgeous boy part of Chris’s muddled brain said. _ So simple. And zero to do with you_.

“Oh,” Chris said. “Huh. I didn’t know.”

Seb turned on his back and stared up into Chris’s face. “Honestly? I didn’t know that you’d care.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

A flush, the kind that crept up towards Seb’s eyebrows. “We were just--I mean, I thought that you thought we were, just, you know. Getting drunk and hooking up. I figured you could do that pretty damn well without me.”

“We were! I mean, I, er, I thought that’s what we were doing, too.”

“And you wanted one last ride before the semester was over, was that it?”

“Yes. No! No, that’s not it! I mean, that’s not all, I guess.”

There was something in Seb’s face that Chris didn’t recognize; a shadow, almost. A flicker of hope, maybe. Or regret. “You’re not making any sense.”

“I like you, Seb.” There, he’d said it. Now it felt real.

“You like fucking me.”

He touched Seb’s cheek. “That, and, you know. Other things.”

“What other things? We’ve never had a conversation, Chris, that didn’t involve the words _ come in me _ and _ fuck_.”

“Ok, but, _ but_, you can’t tell me that you don’t feel like there’s something more between us. Or that there could be.”

A dry chuckle, but Seb didn’t push his hand away. “Oh, I sure as hell can.”

“But you’d be lying. I know it.”

“Bullshit. You’re a mindreader, is that it?”

“I know that you always kiss me after we fuck. That even after that first time, the last thing you did was touch me like this”--he ran a thumb over Seb’s jaw--“and then like very gently kiss me.”

“So?”

“So,” Chris said, “in my experience, random strangers that I fuck over appliances generally like sex of the come-and-done variety. No one’s ever taken a moment like that with me, after, before.”

Seb shook his head. “Maybe you’ve been sleeping with shitty people.”

“Maybe. I mean, probably. But I just--” He gazed down into Seb’s eyes and let his still-buzzed tongue keep running. “I don’t know. Call me crazy. Or a goddamn romantic, but when we’re together, Seb, more and more, I feel like…”

“What?” Seb touched his wrist, his grip as uncertain as his expression.

“I feel like it killed me not seeing you for six weeks. And that it felt like something more than just missing sex.”

“You don’t know me, though. And I don’t know you.”

“No. Maybe not.” He brushed his fingers over Seb’s lips. “But I’d really, really like to.”

"That scares the shit out of me, frankly,” he murmured.

“Why?”

“Because you might not like what you see.”

“And you might not like me.”

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

Chris grinned. “Well, yeah, me too, but you never know.”

Seb’s mouth pursed and he kissed the tips of Chris’s fingers, traced them with the tip of his tongue. “How about we start with something simple?”

“Like what?”

“Like, what’s the last book you read?”

“Er, _The Starr Report_, I guess. That counts, right?”

Seb laughed and Chris’s dumb heart really, really liked that. “It so does.”

“And you?”

“Not a book, but a play: _Ghosts_, by Ibsen.”

“Huh. I don’t know that one.”

“I’ll tell you about it later, after you kiss me.”

“After I--?”

Seb rolled over and covered Chris with his body, hot and smooth and insistent. “After you kiss me and I kiss you and then whatever happens after that. Then I’ll tell you all about _Ghosts_, if you want. Or maybe you’ll want to ask me a question, you know, so we can get to know each other.” He bit at Chris’s neck. “How’s that sound?”

“Baby,” Chris said, lifting his hips and grinning and cupping the curves of Seb’s ass, “that sounds like a plan and a half.”


End file.
